


Eridan and Dualscar get drunk

by FailureArtist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors, Drinking, Other, dreambubble, embarrasment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-12
Updated: 2011-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FailureArtist/pseuds/FailureArtist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says in the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eridan and Dualscar get drunk

               Orphaner Dualscar was enjoying an digestif in his cabin when his dreambubble began to shimmer. This was odd. His dreambubble hadn’t collided with anyone else’s in ages. There was that time when Mindfang visited to gloat. And there was that terrifying time when the Highblood entered his dreambubble. Luckily, he wasn’t in his dangerous withdrawal phrase, so he just spent the entire time babbling about what colors really meant. Sopor slime was a hell of a drug. Dualscar would rather stick to alcohol.

                Dualscar stood up and took out his rifle. It didn’t mean much given that death was impossible in this place and wounds healed quickly, but he still wanted to look intimidating. His cabin started to change. He tried to figure out who his visitor was by the changes. There were no cobwebs, so it couldn’t be Mindfang. There were no religious artifacts about, so it couldn’t be the Highblood. As much as he might wish it to be, it wasn’t her Condesce. Whoever it was, their dreambubble didn’t vary much from his. The cabin was still there, a little beat-up with wooden pillars holding things up, but now it was filled with statuary of magic practitioner. He scowled at them. Useless ballast.

                There was a noise near the front of the cabin and Dualscar turned to see a troll literally come through the door. He got up on his knees and when he saw Dualscar he stayed there.

                                “Orphaner Dualscar!” he cried.

                Dualscar didn’t recognize this person. This was not unusual. He was terrible at remembering people. They all just blurred together. It was less likely for him to remember a wriggler. Mature trolls rarely interacted with immature ones. Yet this person knew him, and he had a feeling he should know him back.

                                He walked over to the invader, his rifle under his arm. “W-who are you, w-wriggler?”

                                “I-I’m your Descendant!” He then added, “Eridan Ampora!”

                                “Stand up.”

                He did so. Dualscar looked him over. This Eridan Ampora person was also a seatroll. The symbol on his shirt was exactly the same as his but he could always have been wearing someone else’s shirt. His body didn’t match up to Dualscar’s impressive stature. He was short and skinny and his long cape, a pale imitation of Dualscar’s, just made him look worse. He was wearing glasses just like Dualscar did before he fixed his vision problems by not giving a damn. He didn’t look like much. However his face had that same handsome strength as Dualscar’s.

                                “Remowe your cape and that silly scarf,” he ordered.

                The wriggler reluctantly dropped his cape, and slowly pull his scarf off his neck. He put his hands self-consciously over his gills.

                                “Remowe your hands,” Dualscar growled.

                The wriggler dropped them to his side and winced with embarrassment. Just as Dualscar thought. The troll’s gills were almost completely fused shut. They were just like Dualscar’s before his surgery.

                                “That is ewidence in your fawor,” his Ancestor remarked cautiously. 

                The wriggler looked up at him expectantly. One more test.

                                Dualscar ordered, “Put out your hand.”

                The wriggler again obeyed. Dualscar grabbed it, and then took out a small knife and cut his Descendant’s finger.

                                “Ow-w, w-what the fuck?” he cursed, trying to pull his hand away.

                                “The same color. You did not steal the garments of your betters.”

                                “Yes, I am three hundred fuckin’ degrees, douchebag!”

                                “Just a precautionary matter,” he said, scowling at the foul-mouthed wriggler.

                He let go of Eridan Ampora’s hand and the wriggler immediately put the cut finger in his mouth. In a few seconds it was completely healed.

                                Dualscar sighed, “So you are my Descendant.”

                He put away his rifle, and then walked back to his chair and fell into it. He grabbed his snifter of wine from the table and took a big swig. He looked back over at his Descendant.

                                “Sit yourself dow-wn...Eridan?”

                                “Yes,” he said, and he quickly pull up a chair next to his Ancestor.

                Dualscar gulped down the rest of the wine, took the fullest bottle on the table, and poured another glass. He shoved it at Eridan.

                                “Here, imbibe this. You shall need its comfort.”

                Eridan didn’t hesitate in any way. He took it and drank it. Dualscar’s doubts about this troll’s identity were squashed, until the wriggler’s face went sour and he began to cough.

                                “You do not enjoy w-wine?” Dualscar asked accusingly.

                                Eridan knocked on his chest. “No,” he wheezed, “I’we had it before.” He recovered a little. “Smuggled it dow-wn to the homeplanet. Cost a fortune.”

                                “Tis a shame that intoxicatin’ bewerages are so hard to come by in your time.”

                He took another glass from the table and poured himself one of his own. He held it up and tippled it a little under the dim lantern’s light.

                                “So, my Descendant, how-w did you find yourself here?”

                Eridan looked down at his stomach, which was seeping a ghostly purple.

                                “Never mind,” Dualscar replied, “Tw-was likely some hideously embarrassin’ demise.”

                His own neck started to seep phantom blood. He shut his eyes tight as he remembered his own death. His guest also decided not to ask about this.

                                He said, “I hawe heard stories about your adwentures from my ow-wn research.”

                                “Is that so?”

                                “I recowered a diary from that period. I mean, MY KISMESIS did. It was the diary of her ow-wn Ancestor.”

                                “W-was the author Mindfang Spinneret by any chance?”

                                “Yeah, my kismesis was her Descendant, her name’s Wriska Serket, w-when w-we played FLARP, it’s this game, w-we w-would call ourselwes Mindfang and Dualscar.”

                                “You pretended to be us durin’ your hate-makin’?”

                                Eridan held up his palm to his face. “Please don’t use that w-word, it, uhh, has a different meanin’ in my time.”

                                “Yes, indeed, times hawe changed, but I am glad my obsidian kismesisitude has endured.”

                                “Yeah, it sure did.”

                Eridan took a big gulp of wine.

                                “This stuff isn’t half bad,” he said, “Certainly better than the sw-will I got from that stupid greenblood dirtcraw-wler.”

                                “It should be. This w-wine came from the wineyard of Grenleaf Stainpaw in District Four, Section Five, Northeast Continent, before that place w-was totally destroyed.” He added, “By me.”

                                “Huh, that’s somethin’.”

                                “In the dreambubble, I can acquire any bottle, as long as I remember it. Giwe it a try.”

                Eridan closed his eyes. A bottle filled with a red substances called Faygo appeared on the table.

                                The ancient troll asked, with longing in his voice, “W-what manner of intoxicant is that?”

                                “It’s nothin’, just a soft drink, could I hawe some more brandy?”

                Dualscar obliged and poured some more for himself. They both drank more.

                                Eridan continued, “So yeah, I read w-what your kismesis said happened, but I’d like to hear it straight from the skyhorse’s mouth. W-what happened after she turned you in...” He stopped himself. “W-what really happened durin’ that Great Midsw-weep Regatta?”

                                “Yes, I am certain in her account she destroyed the officer corps but in reality she only decimated it, and I shall tell you how-w I thw-wated her treasonous plans.”

                And Dualscar proceeded to tell him that story, along with several others where he emerged triumphant over that landdweller.

                                “And so she makes aw-way w-with the statue in my cabin, the Black Bird of Prey from the island Mlat, but in truth the item in my possession is nawy blue and thus slightly less waluable.”

                                “I see Wris didn’t get any more brains. She has the same amount of brains that she did, like, aeons ago. Didn’t pick herself up any more.”

                                “She has a distinct lack of brains, among other qualities that she has, or doesn’t hawe.”

                                “She’s flat as a fuckin’ board.”

                                “There is that, yes, I suppose she w-would not acquire any more bosom than she has.”

                                “Actually, Wris said she saw-w Mindfang, she said she was...umph!” He gestured.

                                “W-what? How-w in the angels’ names did she see her Ancestor?”

                                “Huh, I don’t know-w. Maybe she w-was lyin’.”

                                “Yes, she is the double of a liar.” He started to gesture at his own chest. “But any appearance of healthy growth in that area is an illusion created by her tailor.”

                                “Yeah, I once felt her up and it w-was like feelin’ up a fuckin’ tissue box.”

                                Dualscar sighed. “Yet her limbs are the most perfectly formed ones I hawe ewer seen.”

                                “You mean her gams? She’s got great gams. They start at the floor and then they go up to her hips.”

                Eridan poured himself the last of the second bottle and then gestured with his glass.

                                “Hey,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “How-w w-was our Empress like? Is like. W-was like.”

                Dualscar leaned back.

                                “She w-was as beautiful and as terrifyin’ as any sowereign should be.”

                                “You tw-wo w-were close?”

                                “Indeed, she w-was my superior. It w-was her symbol on her letters to me. I saw-w her many a time at warious regal ewents. One time I w-was only ten feet aw-way from her dais! And at that moment, I heard her woice. It sounded like a dolphin’s laugh.”

                                “She did the squeein’ thin’ too?”

                                Dualscar frowned. “I w-would not call it ‘squeein’.”

                                “I w-was close to the Empress too. I mean, the Heir Apparent. She and I w-were in a relationship.” He made diamond with his fingers.

                                “Ahh, so you w-were not flushed for your magenta lady like I w-was.”

                                Eridan looked at his feet. “I did hawe feelins’ like that, pretty fuckin’ red, but...” He took a swig of brandy. “But I w-was pretty damn close to brin’ her around.”

                                “If I had been giwen more time, I know-w I could hawe been the Empress’s matesprite.”

                                “Hey, I w-was close, I ewen got to see her feet.”

                                “W-what did they look like?”

                                “They start at the floor and go to further along the floor.”

                                Dualscar’s eyes shone. “It sounds like truly a sight to behold.”

                                “Yeah, I used to giwe her foot massages all the time. And then she stopped askin’ me. And then Sol started doin’ it for her. Funny.”

                Eridan picked up the empty bottle next to him without looking, and was surprised to find nothing came out.

                                “Hey, w-we need more w-wine,”  he said.

                                “I shall imagine more, if you w-would giwe me the chance...”

                But Eridan hefted himself out of his seat and crawled down over to the sideboard to rifle through Dualscar’s liquor.

                                Dualscar groaned, “W-wriggler, you should stay aw-way from that collection for this mornin’.  As it is said, fermented before distilled, you shall be killed.”

                                Eridan’s muffled voice called out, “I don’t giwe a shit I’m already dead.” He pulled out a bottle of whiskey. “This looks cool.”

                                “That bottle is older than you, w-wriggler.”

                                “Isn’t all this older than me? You’we been dead for a millennium.”

                                “That bottle has been eight sw-weeps old ewery time I hawe created it and you are...” Dualscar rubbed his head. “Now-w you are creatin’ a w-whirlpool of confusion in me.”

                Eridan slammed the bottle and two tumblers onto the table.

                                “I’m six sw-weeps old, for your information.”

                                “I did not drink anythin’ stronger than w-wine till I w-was, at the wery least, sewen sw-weeps old.”

                                Eridan growled, “You’re not my moirail.” 

                Dualscar shrugged. He was tired of brandy anyway. Eridan opened up the bottle and poured it, managing to get most of it into the tumblers. Dualscar quickly picked up his glass and took a swig. He looked over as Eridan brought his glass to his lips.

                                “You intend to drink that w-without any adulteration?” Dualscar asked.

                Eridan paused his drinking.

                                “Yeah, I’m gonna drink it straight,” he said.

                                “I could conjure up some syrups or some lemon juice. Yes, lemon juice. Lemon juice is good for scruwy.”

                                “I don’t need some fruity-flawored soft drink. And I hate ice, people are alw-ways puttin’ too much ice in thins’, it fuckin’ annoys me.”

                He took a big gulp of whiskey and his eyes watered. He started coughing and pounding his chest again. 

                                “Heeee,” he wheezed, “That’s some good shit.”

                Dualscar took another drink. It was okay. He had better stuff.

                Eridan scooted his chair up closer to Dualscar. He took off his glasses and slide them across the table. He rested his head on his elbow and looked up at Dualscar with slightly squinted eyes and a smirk.

                                “Oh Dualscar,” he said, “Oh Dualscar, Dualscar, Dualscar. W-we’re really gettin’ along.”

                                “Yes, indeed. I could not have expected you w-would turn out to be a good companion.”

                                “See? It’s all because w-we’re so alike. W-we’re both fuckin’ aw-wesome but nobody appreciates it. No one.”

                                “No one! No one at all!” Dualscar lifted his glass. “You could hawe been an honor to my legacy if you had not been slew-wed at such a tender age.” He slammed down his glass. “By god, it was a tragedy!”

                                “A fuckin’ tragedy! There w-were so many goddamn thins’ I newer got to experience! I newer...”

                Eridan looked at Dualscar with an open-mouth. He then leaped up and kissed him. It was a quick peck, but it still took Dualscar aback.

                                “W-what in god’s name w-was that?” he roared.

                                “I think you know-w, you’re a smart troll, you’we done this stuff before, and I w-wanna do it w-with you.”

                                Dualscar crossed his arms and turned his head. “I shall not hawe concupiscent relations of any kind w-with a scrawny w-wriggler.”

                                “I’m not a w-wriggler I’m a nymphet, I got shame globes and everythin’.”

                                “You are still only...you are less than ten sw-weeps old.”

                                “Come on, you pity me, don’t ya?”

                                “Only in the most unromantic, platonic sense and right now-w you disgust me.”

                                Eridan’s hand reached out to Dualscar’s thigh.

                                “I think you are horny for me,” he mumbled.

                His hand reached Dualscar’s crotch and he gave a look of disappointment when he realized how wrong he was. Dualscar grabbed his wrists and shook him.

                                “Do not touch me, w-whelp!”

                                Eridan started crying. “You don’t understand how-w hard it is, I died a wirgin, a DOUBLE WIRGIN! You got both!”

                Dualscar stopped shaking him. The niggling question of how he got a full-blooded Descendant without performing both of his duties bubbled up in his think pan. Actually, he wasn’t sure if he had ever officially attended a Spawning. Well, perhaps he forgot about it. He forgot a great many things.

                                Eridan took this pause to babble more. “It can be just rubbin’ it’s not like I’m gonna jump onto your enormous dork I just w-want to pail I’m so hard feel it!”

                He took the opportunity to grab Dualscar’s wrist and pull them to his own crotch. Dualscar humored him and found what he expected.

                                “You are flaccid,” he stated flatly.

                                Eridan looked down. “Shit, I am, w-what the hell?”

                Dualscar lean back away from the over-excited troll. He picked up his tumbler and spoke in a scholarly fashion.

                                “It is said, somew-where, by a w-writer, alcohol prowokes desire but takes aw-way...doin’ anythin’. I used to suffer from that plague but there is a remedy for it.”

                                “W-what is it?”

                                “I cannot remember. But I am certain I can hold my drink now-w.”

                He finished his tumbler as if to prove his point.  Eridan finished his and poured himself another drink, or at least tried to. He mostly poured the whiskey over his hands.

                                “Fuck, w-where are my glasses, I need them,” he muttered loudly.

                Dualscar grabbed the bottle away from him.

                                “Cease this nonsense,” he yelled, “You are w-wasting good liquor!”

                                “Then you pour me another, fancy rings!”

                                “You are too drunk, w-wriggler!”

                                Eridan gestured with his quarter-full glass. “No, you’re too drunk!”

                                “That is ridiculous, I hawe drunk the same amount and my body is...”

                                “No!” Eridan stood up. “You w-were drinkin’ w-when I came in and you probably w-were drinkin’ all fuckin’ night.” He stabbed Dualscar’s chest with his finger. “That’s w-what you do all the time, drink, w-when you could be usin’ your magic dream pow-wers to go on an adwenture or somethin’.” He then started sobbing again. “You don’t ewen bother to fuck anyone cause you’re too hammered to breach your enormous dork.”

                Dualscar was silent to these accusations.

                                Eridan sobbed, “I just w-wanted to meet you.”

                He sniffled, wavered from side to side, and then fell forward into Dualscar’s lap.

 

                Eridan woke up in bunk recupercoon wearing all of his clothes. Dualscar stood with a tall dark red glass with a stick of celery stuck in it.

                                “Maroonblood marius?” he asked, shaking the glass in Eridan’s direction.

                Eridan yawned colorfully. 

 

A possible ending

 

                Eridan laid naked on the concupiscent couch, tears in his eyes and genetic material on his chest.

                                “That w-was w-wonderful,” he sighed.

                Dualscar was quickly dressing with his back to the couch.

                                “That w-was the most shameful thin’ I hawe ewer experienced, and I w-was murdered by a clow-wn.”

                                Eridan continued to sigh. “It w-was all I ewer imagined, your pow-werful body ower me, rubbin’ against me w-with your...a little abowe-awerage..bone bulge.”

                                “Did you imagine I w-would be soft the entire time?” Dualscar grumbled.

                                “I alw-ways w-wanted to lose my red wirginity to you.”

                                “I doubt that. It w-would be much more reasonable to fantasize about someone you might hawe met...like that princess you said you fancied.”

                                “I’we forgotten that dirt-lowin’ bitch. You’re just the fuckin’ best in ewerythin’. I’we newer met anyone like you.”

                                Dualscar growled as he looked at himself in his hand mirror. “I am you. You basically just pleasured yourself to your ow-wn perfected image.”

                Dualscar slammed down the mirror and turned to Eridan.

                                “It doesn’t ewen count if you fail to excite your partner!”

                Eridan propped his head up and gave a look like he hadn’t realize till now that Dualscar didn’t pail. 

                                Dualscar put out his ringed index finger. “Listen carefully, w-wriggler. I only gawe into your perwerted lust so you w-would cease molestin’ me. I hawe no desire for you. I barely ewen pity you, and that pity is more like that of a lusus to its doomed charge. W-we are not matesprites, nor kismesis, nor moirails, nor an auspicitized couple. W-we are not ewen friends. W-we are nothin’.”

                                Eridan replied, “But can w-we do it again?”

                                “Get the fuck out of my dreambubble.”


End file.
